When I was a sophomore in high school, I have a very clear memory of being greeted by my mother with, "Well, hello, Spring Fever!"
Apparently the previous two to four months, I'd worn black and trudged out of my room in time to get to school. (OK, if I'm honest, my wardrobe for the preceding four months was likely a micro mini cheer skirt of the colors maroon and gold, but who's keeping track?) I may or may not be confessing to suffering from a titch of seasonal affective disorder.
I also may or may not have thought my mother was completely crazy. But I have a matching memory of practically skipping into school, past a blooming crab apple tree, wearing polka dots and a purple hair ribbon with my mother's words still ringing though my mind.
And they continue to do so, each and every spring.
I'm relatively certain I was created for spring. I love tulips, daffodils, hyacinth, lilac, pansies and crocus. I love flowering crabs, redbuds and even those stinky pear trees. I love to shuck the three sweaters and one pair of jeans that I make do with for months on end, in favor of my wardrobe of sundresses, tank tops and strappy sandals. I secretly harbor fantasies of rolling in the grass like a puppy. I love the smells, colors, textures, the feel of the breeze, the songs of the birds, the early sunrises and the amazing sunsets. I love driving though the burning fields at night and I love the thunderstorms. I love the budding trees and the new growth and the smell of the first lawn mow. I throw the windows open and revel in the fresh air as early and as long as possible.
So it is one of life's great disappointments to me that my son get sick as a dog in the spring. I sent him to school with scary red eyes, sneezing his brains out. I had to take the lilac back off my kitchen table and put it outside and tonight I will probably have to shut down my house in favor of suffocating, pollen free air.
Whimper.
Every year Iforget block it out. And every year I go though mourning. And then, every year, I suck it up and be the adult and remind myself that he is much better than lilacs.
And turn on the AC with hepa filters.
Apparently the previous two to four months, I'd worn black and trudged out of my room in time to get to school. (OK, if I'm honest, my wardrobe for the preceding four months was likely a micro mini cheer skirt of the colors maroon and gold, but who's keeping track?) I may or may not be confessing to suffering from a titch of seasonal affective disorder.
I also may or may not have thought my mother was completely crazy. But I have a matching memory of practically skipping into school, past a blooming crab apple tree, wearing polka dots and a purple hair ribbon with my mother's words still ringing though my mind.
And they continue to do so, each and every spring.
I'm relatively certain I was created for spring. I love tulips, daffodils, hyacinth, lilac, pansies and crocus. I love flowering crabs, redbuds and even those stinky pear trees. I love to shuck the three sweaters and one pair of jeans that I make do with for months on end, in favor of my wardrobe of sundresses, tank tops and strappy sandals. I secretly harbor fantasies of rolling in the grass like a puppy. I love the smells, colors, textures, the feel of the breeze, the songs of the birds, the early sunrises and the amazing sunsets. I love driving though the burning fields at night and I love the thunderstorms. I love the budding trees and the new growth and the smell of the first lawn mow. I throw the windows open and revel in the fresh air as early and as long as possible.
So it is one of life's great disappointments to me that my son get sick as a dog in the spring. I sent him to school with scary red eyes, sneezing his brains out. I had to take the lilac back off my kitchen table and put it outside and tonight I will probably have to shut down my house in favor of suffocating, pollen free air.
Whimper.
Every year I
And turn on the AC with hepa filters.
3 comments:
I feel your pain, but I am the one that is a sneezing, red eyed, itchy skin spring lover!
Spring is the best season.
I am the allergy sufferer in our house, but I, also, can barely wait for Spring to spring!
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